


They Call Her Ruby

by nyanyanya22



Category: Ruby Gloom (Cartoon)
Genre: Oneshot, Other, Uses the original version of Ruby, gloomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyanyanya22/pseuds/nyanyanya22
Summary: "There's a girl." The boy cried, his pants damp from the grass outside. "At the old O'Donnell Estate!"
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	They Call Her Ruby

Over the town, just past the foothills, on a clear, cloudless night, you just might be able to make out the highest room of the Old O'Donnell House.

The O'Donnells were once one of the most powerful people in Ulster, rivaled only by the mighty O'Neil clan.

The mansion was constructed by a overseas branch of the family in the early Victorian Era, at the cost of thousands upon thousands of pounds, and several unfortunate workers. Perhaps they built it to distinguish themselves from the ever discriminated Catholic Irish, perhaps as a way to gain an advantage and show of might against the O'Neils, perhaps simply to display their wealth. No one was quite sure,

It's winding roof and stylized towers a symbol of a bygone era, a simpler time when Glamill was simply the mansion and it's estate, long before the mines came.

If you asked any local, they'd say the house was cursed, the legacy of the dead workers never fully leaving. Or, perhaps Native American Land, ancient burial grounds disturbed in the construction, some sacred land disturbed. Hell, some even thought the O'Neils had something to do with it, an act of petty vengeance.(If you ever asked one of them, they'd quickly deny it, then spout some nonsense about O'Donnell corruption)

Regardless of your belief in divine constitution, It seemed a string of bad luck had hit the residents, stories were passed down of dead children and unfortunate accidents throughout the estates life.

The oldest brother of the family died in 1889 of Scarlett Fever, both of his sisters struck by Typhoid in 93. Two newborns died under odd circumstances, turning blue and stiff before they had ever grown, and a visiting uncle fell off the balcony and broke his neck for reasons never quite known.

This string of events continued until, one day, the Patriarch of the Mansion died without an heir after contracting the pox, leaving the O'Donnell house abandoned, the surviving relatives overseas were too busy dealing with the war to bother with some stuffy mansion of days past.

Perhaps it was symbolic of the town as a whole.

Left to rot. Dying.

Glamill wasn't exactly what you'd call a boom town. Oh sure, back in my father's time, it was quite a site to see. When I was a lad, he'd spin terrific tales of the glory days. Nearly 5000 residents made a living off of the booming bituminous business, the hustle and bustle of the coal industry brought some degree of excitement to each day.

Then the coal vein ran dry, far sooner then anyone had expected. I still recall those months. It was like someone had flipped a switch. Construction projects were cancelled, the mines closed, and suddenly our little offshoot of the main highway was nothing, but a detour.

Superfluous. No longer needed. Just some creepy old town no one cared about.

Perhaps the curse of the Glamill Estate never truly left. After all, a young French girl who was foolish enough to wander in fell down a collapsed floor and died back in 54.

And so, the last in a long line of miners, I was reduced to working at Askil's old family store(Askill had never married, the local town gossip said he was queer, but you didn't hear that from me)

Now, don't misunderstand my intentions. There's nothing wrong with the counter business, hell, it's probably safer in the long run. We ALL know about the risks of mining, a dead uncle or a lost brother. But seeing this, suddenly all those I had known as rough and tumble miners suddenly looking for work in stores, lumberyards, out of town. Scrambling and twitching much like a fowl with it's head removed.

It's a slow death.

And then came the day when the Benjie's young'n, Arno, came home from the well.

"There's a girl in the hills." He proclaimed. Much like the sailors of our past, spinning stories of sirens sighted on shoals, tempting them to follow, but ever distant, the child told of a figure, no more then 5 feet tall, lurking near the old O'Donnell house.

Of course, that was no cause for concern. Children see strange things all the time, especially around The O'Donnell Mansion. My father had once told me a story of when he was seven and had apparently seen a banshee on the first balcony, clad in blue veil and staring off into the void before disappearing into the mist.

He wasn't the first person to see strange things by the mansion, and he wouldn't be the last.

Simple imagination.

Then came the music.

It was, but a few days later, and suddenly people going to the area, people of all ages and constitutions, heard it.

A cello. The soft, somber notes of a cello were said to echo through the valley, the Tuesday well party reporting the song of music emanating from the roof of the Mansion.

Of course, not everyone heard it. Some days all it seemed you could hear was the gentle whisper of the wind, the souls of the past, that November witch a blowing through the air..

Then came that fateful Friday, when the patriarch of the O'Hay family came from the well, concern on his normally stoic face. Practically busting into the tavern, screaming out what he had seen.

"There's a girl on the roof of the O'Donnell's place. I saw her, she was riding a tricycle or something, right there in the open, plain as day! I swear on my life!"

Concerned mothers rushed home to check on their wee bairns, giving a warm hug to the daughters once they were certain they were safe and sound.

The men simply laughed. Every child in this town was scared to death of The Mansion, and besides, this was Martin O'Hay, notorious drinker. This was the same man who, 18 moons prior, had claimed to have spotted a cyclops by the lake after drinking some particularly strong peatreek.

This was a man who didn't exactly know the meaning of moderation.

Askill was the only one who listened, him and O'Hay going back quite some time. The two of them wandered back out into the hills, a twinge of concern filling me as they walked out into the night.

"The place was still" They calmly stated once they returned nearly an hour later. "Not a sight or a sound to behold."

The roof was clear, not a thing under the moonlight, and not a sound to be heard. O'Hay refused to admit he was mistaken. "I was sober!" He proclaimed to no one in particular, trotting back to his house distraughedly.

And so no one listened.

But the mysterious figure never seemed to leave.

Every day, the men would go out to the well to fetch the water, and every day, more of them would provide some degree of corroborating detail.

Angus was first. "In the window!" He spoke of her bright Ruby Red Hair, which he had only caught, but a glimpse of. Askill added, he and his wife had seen a figure sitting on the edge of the old roof, playing that cello tune once more. Neither had gotten a good look.

Sean was daring enough to venture inside the O'Donnell place, something no one had done since the death in 54. Even the non-superstitious knew the building was unstable. Of course, he didn't bring a camera, Sean was never a bright one, but he cited a figure, "A ghoul!" he proclaimed in the Glamill tavern that night. "Pale as a ghost, staring down at me from above. Ghost of the O'Donnell children I tell ya!"

Some men said she hovered above the mansion, a spirit of the past come to return to the land of the living. Some of the more skeptical ones suspected the local youth might be playing tricks. I myself thought it to be a trick of the light, some force of the sciences misleading the masses. I was one for strong constitutions, a free thinker in the modern world. I wasn't going to fall down for such flimshaw.

Until, of course, she walked into my shop.

I was sitting at the counter, counting the minutes until 21:00 hours when my working day could finally come to a close, when, all of a sudden, the faint 'cling cha ching' the door's bell rang. I looked up.

Walking in was a girl(woman?). The soft 'pit pat pit pat' of her high heels riverbed through the empty building. Her hair was bright red, bright enough to make an Irish man blush. On her body, a single piece dress, black as the night, it's entire bottom rim jagged like the rocks of the foothills. Her legs were clad in bright red and orange stockings, her figure was thin and decidedly female, but her age seemed difficult to decipher. I wasn't sure if she was 14 or 22, her appearance was so odd.

And her skin. True to the word of Crazy Sean, her skin was as pale as the moon was white. A corpse! A doll! A Maiden! A Spirit! These were the things coming to mind as she slowly shuffled forward.

She turned away, as I took a closer look at her. Her deep voice and cold manner of interaction were that of a woman grizzled with age, but her stature spoke of youth, and a quick glance revealed neither ample bosom nor plump cheek.

She appeared frail, ghostly. Was this the ghost of the O'Donnells child?, I pondered. Had the dead indeed risen for some unholy task?

I held firm, too scared at unleashing it's wrath to move. I simply watched as it slowly went from aisle to aisle, slowly collecting goods as she went.

Liverwurst. Mint Jelly. White Rice. A bottle of unflavored tonic water.

She never smiled. Not once. Simply holding an expression of... _gloom_ , on her face.

As she turned back towards me, her small bundle of groceries tight in hand, the fear of a thousand childhood ghost tales came back to me at once. Faeries, Banshees, Skeletons, the creatures of the night and the souls of the damned. A feeling of regret at selling my grandfathers cold iron spiked pendant came rushing back to me as she walked up.

"Hello."

I gulped. This was no aspiration, no trick of the constitution. The mysterious maiden had appeared in my very store, and had just spoken to me.

Her left hand, thing and ghostly white, slowly extended outwards towards the counter. Was this a curse? The last meal of some long dead O'Donnell? The revenge of the young French lass?

As her hand unspooled, I eyed what lay inside.

Over a dozen old pounds and shillings, some predating the war. I breathed a silent sigh of relief. No hexes were to be cast upon me today.

"Will this cover it?" She spoke, her voice hauntingly cold.

Now, while I'm not the shrewdest of merchants, I'm not usually one to accept foreign currencies. But in this moment, with a being, a girl I had once filed alongside The Yeti and The Wendigo in realms of believably was now standing right in front of me, I wasn't going to be picky. A quick mental calculation I had learned from John down the road confirmed it, she did indeed have enough money. "Ye-es." I stuttered out, slowly extending my increasing twitchy hand.

She dropped the coins into them in an almost mechanical motion. To my shock, her hand was extremely soft to the touch, despite being frail as a Frenchman it was smooth as silk.

I gasped slightly at the revelation, my stress was at an all time high. Like a worker responding to an overheated boiler, it jumped into action, rationalizations quickly popping into my head.

She's from out of town.

She's probably just one of those weird counter culture girls.

Nothing to do with the Ghoul of O'Donnell.

"So.." I spoke out a little too quickly, trying to ease the situation. "You uh, new around here?"

"I suppose you could say that." Her words were blunt and cold, like an automaton.

Oh, ok, nothing inheriantly weird about that, I thought to myself, my racing heart finally starting to calm down as I tried to find a space for the pence in my register. "We don't get many visitors round here these days, not since the mines left."

"..."

Her quiet and cold demeanor held firm, my brain struggling for things to say, before it finally clicked. "Say, how old are you?" I asked.

"I can never seem to remember."

I stepped back slightly, mildly disturbed by the statement. Looking over her once again, there were indeed small breasts on her frail frame, and those heels were not ones of a wee lass. Still, putting an exact age on her seemed a difficult task. "You here with family? Moving in?"

"I live alone. I'm happier on my own."

I found it hard to believe she was happy in the slightest, her frown remained firmly frozen in place. I had heard nothing of anyone new though, and Angus was always eager to mention new developments. (Poor lad was still hankering for the golden age of the mines, always praying a new vein of black gold would show itself and restore them to their glory)

"Where you live? You staying at Willie's Hotel or..." I trailed off, expecting an answer as I finished tallying the money and passed her her groceries back.

"The Mansion." She stated coldly, as if it was the simplest statement in the world, before turning around and shuffling away, paper bag in hand.

I gasped. It **was** ** _her!_** The Cello Ghoul, the O'Donnell Ghost, the Witch of the Valley, the figure that had been the intrique of the town for over a month! It could be no one else!

"Wait, what, Missy that Mansion is unstable, it's abandoned, It's unsafe!" I stuttered out, less out of true concern and moreso out of a morbid sort of primal fear.

She turned at the noise, her cold, oddly marked eyes meeting mine.

"I know."

The words seemed to last an eternity, before she turned around and walked out of the shop.

* * *

It was a long evening at the tavern that night.

It seemed as though the entire village had become split on the issue. Most of the woman simply laughed, dismissing them as tales of the land sailors. Perhaps fumes from the marshes were getting to people. No different then stories of sea serpents and rogue waves. A husbands tale.

The men were also somewhat debated, but not as to whether she existed or not, no, all doubt of that was erased the second I stepped into the pub and backed up what Sean had seen earlier with more detail. No, this debate was to the nature of this...Gloomy one.

A ghost? A ghoul? A vampire? Some prankster? A witch? Some drugged out runaway?

No one was quite sure. We didn't even know if she'd return, or if this was a simple ghostly visit that had concluded, unfinished business thusly done with.

I myself was convinced she was of this plane, for no faerie nor specter I was aware of required itself a standard meal to survive.  
Of course, I was never the expert on the supernatural sort so I silently hoped I wasn't mistaken.

I hoped it was behind us.

That is, until the very next day, when I myself payed a trip to the well, and, sure as rain, the somber notes of a cello echoed through the valley.

I didn't dare enter though. Not alone anyway. I wasn't that bold. I simply walked past as fast as I could, not looking back once.

And, after that, I mostly retreated back to my store for a while, seeking some degree of normalcy back after everything that had happened. But you can't exactly return to handling change when a creepy pale faced... _something_ , has taken up residence in the abandoned mansion with the dark past.

That's never a good sign.

Why, the very next morning, The O'Reilly Brothers strolled into my shop, not for crackers and pork cuts, no, to simply start asking about... _her_.

"Scot, what of this specter did yee see?" They'd ask, stroking their unwashed beards. "She was a witch, wasn't she?" Calder would pesterly ponder, forcing me to lean back in stress. His brother Gavlin would surely follow, his own theories of ghostly vengeance coming out.

"Tis the French Girl who died in 54'" He'd say, referring to the unfortunate accident of days past. "Come back to haunt us for not keeping watch! I told er mum that girl was troublesome, but she didn't listen! I had no part in it, she ought to leave me be."

I sighed. I didn't want to think about it at all.(Although every man in town knew that Calder was an idiot, it didn't lower my discomfort) Ever since the ruby haired one had made her presence known, Glamill had entered a feverish state not seen since the hayday of the mine.

This pattern of questioning and conspiracy continued for the next week, slowly simmering with time. John suggested it might have been been hysteria, too many drinking and worrying getting to us.

Until Monday.

When she came back.

Once again entering my store, I stared, though much less shockingly then before.

 **Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.** Once more, she swayed back and forth, her frail form marching slowly across the store.

Bread. Rice. Sausage. Jelly. Yet more items entered her sheet white hands as she marched back, like a reaper, shuffling forward.

No words were shared as she handed me yet another assortment of coins from the days of my grandfather, the fear, not just of her, but of what exactly her presence would bring.

As she turned, trotting out the door once more, I finally got up the guts to ask.

"Are you...you're not a ghost right?"

She turned. No smile, no expression. "How could I buy groceries if I was a ghost?"

And then she left, once more, out into the street.

Except, not quite.

As she walked down the crumbling main street which reeked of better times, a shrill voice cried out "It's HER! The Ghoul!"

"The Ruby Haired Girl?"

"The Ghost?"

Various men and maidens down the street hollored out, Mr. O'Hay simply stood there, too drunk to tell if what he was seeing was truly there. Askill tryed in vain to ask her questions, getting close enough to speak, but too frightened to reach out and touch.

She simply marched on, back over the hills, towards the old O'Donnell house.

* * *

"She's just one of those modern punk chicks, probably goes there to do poetry or some foolish thing as such."

"No mortal has skin so pale."

"Albino's exist, Calder. Don't you ever read?"

"Bull!"

The tavern was not fun that night.

No one could relax with a cold one when every man, maiden and beast in town seemed content to holler and rabble about the Ruby Haired Girl. I sat there on the cold leather, drink in my shakey hands as I tried to drown out the noise of Angus and John arguing with the O'Reillys about her very nature. Poker was cancelled as Askill and Jaque decided they'd much rather argue on the level of sunlight leaking through the Estate's roof then deal cards.

The climate in the tavern turned rough as the evening turned into the wee hours of the morn, the increasingly inebriated folk getting ever more rowdy.

Someone threw a chair, I'm not sure who, though I'd bet on the O'Reillys. Next thing you knew it was like hell itself had risen within the hall. The patriarch of the O'Hays on the floor, Askill screaming names as the Riellys reached for the nearest blunt object.

Something poked my neck. I flinched, half expecting some specter or fae to be behind me, perhaps the Ruby Haired one. To my(thankful) surprise, it was Sean, ducking down slightly to avoid the building chaos.

"Mate, we uh.." He paused for a second to breath, fully ducking under the chair as the O'Neils broke out into a full on fight. "I say we go down to the Mansion ourselves, right now." He looked behind his back, probably checking on the state of the fight. "If there's two of us one of, one of us can go get help if a floor falls or something."

"..."

"Come on Frazier, we gotta get some answers or this shite will never stop."

Deep in my heart, I knew he was right. And so, quiet as a mouse, we slinked out the back door, any noise we made drowned out by the rowdy crowd and the fight in the front. I peeked back one last time.

Angus was winning.

* * *

Have you ever really took a moment to smell a marsh?

Imagine the smell after a thunderstorm, the smell of fresh earth, the smell of fish, and a fart, all mixed together.

That's what the whole of the valley smells like, even if the one you were in didn't have a marsh in it at the moment. It just sort of permeates.

The grass was damp as we walked forward, my pant legs slowly dampening with each step. Sean looked back at me, the fear practically radiating off of me.

There it was. The Old O'Donnell place.

The three aging towers stood over us like a dark horse, begging for the damned and doomed to enter it's accursed doors, aged and mildewed.

We took a quick glance at each other, before thrusting the old doors open with a **SQQQQUUUUUCNH** ,

The smell of mold hit my nose immediately, followed by an...odd scent, one I couldn't quite recognize. The halls were grey with age, rainwater pooled at the base of the main stairway.

Music.

There was music audible through the hollow halls, not the cello heard by the wellboys, no, it was...almost that of circus music, except with an indescribable darkness to it, like a corruption had swiftly entered and darkened all within.

"Well, no going back now." Sean slowly spoke, taking small steps forward.

**CREAAAK, CLACK, CREEEAK, CLACK.**

The corrupted circus music only got louder as we ascended, each step was slow and careful, unsure if the ancient stairs were about to give out and send us falling.

Finally, with one last step, we were there.

"It seems we have visitors, Mr. Buns."

That voice. _She_ _**was**_ _here._

There she sat, on a small black chair, a coy pose on her body and that old...cold expression. Next to her was a phonograph, the gentle music of the dark circus emanating from it's turn table. Stern about were a variety of small ragdoll puppets of all shapes and sorts. A human, a horse, some indescribable black beast. In her hand, she held a small puppet of...something resembling a rabbit.

The Ruby Haired Wonderment, the Gloom Ghoul, the Punk of Glamill, was indeed right in front of them, playing with dolls.

"It's her." Sean whispered under his breath, taking a step back. "The Spirit!"

"Oh, it's you. You tried to sneak a few days ago." She calmly and coldly stated, standing up from her chair after taking a moment to set her ragdoll down. "You know it's generally considered impolite to sneak up on a girl."

"Whuh." Sean stuttered, caught off guard. "It's generally considered bad form to live in a crapper like this alone, bloody hell what are you doing here!?"

"Hmm.." The Ruby Haired Girl pondered for a sec. "You said hell?"

"I...what of it?"

She stared, coldly into the void. "That's where the things that follow me come from. I'm not sure if they're real, but I can always see them."

Sean went quiet, visibly freaked out by the statement and slowly backing down the stairs. I turned back to the girl, her face twitched for a moment before turning to me. "You're the shop owner? Last time I came down from the mansion it seems I caused quite the fuss."

"I...uh...sorry about that, I uh...what's your name anyway."

I could almost swear her frown deepened for a second. "It's not relevant. The crows call me as they please."

"Sorry, sorry." I stuttered out, not wanting to anger...it. "I uh, just wanted something to call you other then..."

"The Gloom Ghoul?"She asked coldly.

I panicked for a second(Was she reading my mind) before quickly realizing she had heard it during her last trip down. "Well we just-"

"I like it. It's dark."

That...wasn't the reaction I expected. "What?"

"I came from the darkness. I thrive in the darkness. I enjoy being called such things."

"Well, I actually was going to call you you the Ruby Haired Girl, but if you..."

"Ruby." She paused for a second, turning briefly back to her dolls. "Ruby Gloom. I like it."

"Ok...Ruby." I choked out, swallowing a gulp that had been building for some time in my throat. "Me and Sean came here to-"

"He left."

I turned around. True to the witchy womans word, Sean had flown the coop and was nowhere to be seen. "Coward." I mumbled under my breath, before turning back to her. "Look, my name is Scot, and...we're all kinda just wondering...why do you live here...alone...surely you know there's other places to be."

"I'm never truly alone." She gestured back to a small group of ragdolls. "My puppets and I are quite alike. We are comfortable here, they do not smile just as I do not, but they are...happy."

"Are...you, happy here?" I asked her with a slight stutter.

"Of course." She calmly spoke, gesturing me to look over at the balcony. A conspiracy of ravens and a murder of crows had collected along the edge in rows. "Look at them."

"The birds?"

"They certainly enjoy my puppet shows." She held out her hand, a single raven landing on her arm. "Tell me, Scot, have you ever seen a Raven smile? Dance for joy and prance in wonder to express it's happiness like some nymph of the forest?"

"Well...well no."

"They feel no need to smile, they simple are as they are." She turned back to me. "They live in the darkness, they enjoy the darkness. We are alike. We're happy on the inside. So happy we could die."

A thought occured to me. _Lives in darkness, thrives in darkness._ "You aren't some kind of vampire, are you? You're human right?"

"Vampires aren't real. I have far more teeth then them."

"Ok..." I paused, unsure if it was rise to press further.

"Rows and rows of them."

I gulped. "Do you, want some company, or..."

"One is indeed a lonely number." She cryptically mumbled, before looking back at her dolls, and the various birds watching. "But I am never alone. Not really." Ruby snapped back to me, her expression unchanged. "Go. Your friend is waiting."

I didn't stay to argue, turning to walk down the crooked stairs and catch up with Sean(and give the bastard a good kick in the head for running off) when her voice spoke up, one last time.

"If you see any blank tentacles, just at the edge of your vision, don't stop." She paused, giving out a slight sigh. "I don't know what would happen if you let them catch up."

I didn't wait around to find out. Not for one moment more. I turned around and marched right out the door, out into the damp valley, to begin the trek home.

The town truly turned a bit darker that month.

No one in Glamill could ever forget...her.

The one they called...Ruby Gloom.

They called her Ruby Gloom.

* * *

**I'm...not really sure how this one turned out.**

**In case you didn't catch on, this fic uses what I'm referring to as "Classic Ruby" or "Angst Ruby", the original potrayal of the character from 2001-2004. before the first book essentially retconned it out of existence and became the new standard.  
**

**I used the old Hot Topic posters and calenders, the old website, and finally/ ESPECIALLY an interview from Bite Me Magazine(which confirmed most of what I had already put together with the other evidence, and gave me enough material for a fic) Google them if you wanna see what I mean.  
**

**I've actually suggested a fic involving "Classic Ruby" and "Show/Book Ruby" swapping places, and the shenangans that ensue. If you wanna do that, and use ideas from my version of Classic Ruby(such as her living in Glamill and the general areas backstory) please credit me in the description as a source of inspiration.**

**Classic Ruby needs some love. She deserves the name "Ruby Gloom" FAR more then Modern-Ruby or even Intermediate(Book) Ruby**


End file.
